


Everything a Young Lady Need Know

by Who Shot AR (akerwis)



Category: Temeraire - Fandom
Genre: Childhood, Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 21:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akerwis/pseuds/Who%20Shot%20AR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane meets her father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything a Young Lady Need Know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelan/gifts).



> This is set around 1784. Jane's meant to be eight or nine.

"Roland!" called Filbee, half-running over to where Mother and Jane sat, playing piquet. Filbee looked half-disheveled, as she often did, her hair beginning to fall a bit in her face. "Post's come--I've a letter for you!"

"Thank you," Mother answered, taking it and setting down her cards (faces down, to Jane's disappointment--Mother sometimes set them faces up without realizing) to open it. As she scanned over the letter, her expression grew dark, until finally, she folded the letter back up and tucked it into a pocket. "I think we'll have to call our game ended, Jane; I must be off. I believe you've won."

Jane looked down at her hand as Mother walked off, quite certain she had been losing at that moment. She took only a moment to stack the cards in a hasty pile before following her mother as quietly as she could.

•

All of the relevant conversations happened behind closed and locked doors, in voices that became nothing more than a low hum when one attempted to listen through the walls. Even cupping her hands around her ears did little to help matters; in fact, it nearly made things worse, for she was so intent on hearing the conversation that she failed to dart away down the corridor when the voices grew louder and so was discovered an eavesdropper when Admiral Halpenny opened the door and she nearly fell into his legs.

"Jane!" came the inevitable (and in this case, deserved, she supposed) admonishment. Standing up straight, she mumbled a hasty apology and prepared to be sent off to find something more useful to do, but no further reprimands came. "Come inside, Jane, for I think we must speak of something."

"Ann," began Halpenny, but Mother shook her head.

"Thank you, Rupert, but I am decided. Come, Jane."

When they were sat at the little table in Mother's quarters, the door once more shut and locked tight, Mother took a deep breath. "Jane, I have received word from your father. He wishes to meet you."

Jane had wondered what could possibly be so dire as to send Mother off so quickly, had thought for a moment that perhaps she was needed in battle somewhere far away. That it should be word of her father seemed almost absurd; of what importance could he possibly be to their lives when Mother had never spoken of him and Jane had never met him?

"To _see_ you, I suppose," Mother went on, her mouth quirking up at one corner in something approaching a smile. "He meet you once before, though I suppose you don't recall. It was--five years ago now, I suppose? More than, likely enough."

Jane said, "Oh," and then, "Is he coming soon?"

"In a fortnight. I'm afraid you haven't much choice in the matter." Mother patted her on the shoulder. "He is not a bad man, but he doesn't understand what it is to be an aviator. In any case, I don't expect he'll stay long--you needn't worry over it."

Having had no intention to worry in the first place, Jane simply nodded.

•

Jane was occasionally in the habit of trying to see exactly how far back her memory stretched; it seemed a worthwhile habit to attempt to remember everything she could, for she had once heard Berkley say that all the best captains had sharp memories and sharper eyes. (That Berkley could be trusted on this, she was somewhat skeptical, for he at eighteen had not yet attained a captaincy to speak of, but it seemed sound logic to Jane nonetheless.) She reckoned her best effort around two or three years old, for she could recall the swish of skirts around her legs as she ran toward Mother and Excidium, and she couldn't imagine being cajoled into wearing them at Loch Laggan much past that age. Past that point, she had dashed about in skeleton suits with the other children of the covert.

It was a memory all of feelings, not of words: Mother caught her and threw her up into the air before setting her down on one of Excidium's massive forelegs, his scales warm and smooth. She supposed she must have laughed to have flown as dragons did, if only for the span of moments, but she could not remember that with certainty.

In the weeks that passed before her father arrived, Jane attempted several times to recall him. While she could return to her memories of Excidium's enormity and her mother's arms, however, the man journeying up to Scotland remained a mystery.

•

Upon Mother's bed lay the finest dress Jane had ever seen, a filmy white gown with a wide blue sash. It looked just her size, or perhaps a little long in the skirt.

Jane could guess at its purpose, given the importance of this afternoon: today, she should meet her father. She detested it upon sight.

"I sha'n't wear that," she informed her mother. Her father would not know who Jane was, if she dressed so; wearing such a costume would be a strange sort of falsehood to tell, silent and ever-present.

Mother made a noise in response that sounded suspiciously like laughter, but she put her hand before her mouth as though to cough. When Jane could see her mouth again, it was curved up in a little smile. "It was a gift, Jane. It would be polite of you to wear it."

Jane shook her head. It would itch and become grass-stained before she could say Jack Robinson, and to what end? So she could trip on her way to shake her father's hand. The thought of wearing it seemed entirely impractical. "I don't care to."

Though it was undeniably deliberate disobedience, Mother didn't seem at all cross at this reply. She sat down upon the bed, taking care not to sit upon the frock, and patted her knee. Jane felt rather too old to be taken upon anyone's knee but climbed up anyway.

"You will have to wear gowns on occasion when you are a grown woman," Mother said, sounding yet amused at this discussion. "They're a frightful annoyance, but if you ever care to visit London, you'll have to learn to live with stays and skirts."

"I will not," Jane answered stoutly, looking up at her mother's face. "If I can't dress like everyone else, I'll only visit coverts."

"This _is_ how everyone else dresses." Mother's voice was gentle but firm, her usually merry eyes serious. "Aviators are the exception, pet, not the rule--you know that. A good aviator can't wear breeches all the time, or she'll never know society beyond the Corps. And even if you don't care for the rest of society, you must know something about the people in it--for every time we enter battle, it is for their own good. Pity they'll never know."

Jane twisted her mouth into a frown, suddenly lacking in a tart reply; the weight of the phrase 'a good aviator' was not lost on her, nor her duty to Britain.

"With all that said," Mother continued, a familiar, playful smile returning to her face, "you are _not_ yet an aviator, though you shall be soon, and I don't imagine there's any need for you to go round in a frock at Loch Laggan. You'd only end up stained and torn, any road, if I dressed you all in white."

Jane grinned up at her mother and slid down off her knee. Mother stood and offered her hand to Jane. "Let us see if we can't find something more suitable for you to wear."

•

Mother sent her into the small, plain office with an attempt at a little smile; a fool could see the way her brow was furrowed, however, belying any illusion of calm. Jane herself was not terribly concerned, for if her father meant to snatch her away from Loch Laggan, as Warren had said he might, he surely wouldn't try to do so in broad daylight. It seemed a rather stupid plan, particularly when so many people must know he had come to the covert in the first place. (More importantly, experience had taught Jane long ago that Warren took more delight in trying to frighten her than anything else. Most of his tales were best treated as falsehoods until proven otherwise.) She heard the door shut behind her but did not turn to look; instead, she continued to walk toward the man seated in a dark wood chair until she stood before him.

He was younger than Jane thought he might be; her image of a father was of old Disher, whose hair had turned grey long before Jane was born and whose manner was gruff unless you had a matter of some importance to tell him. This man was perhaps a little older than Mother (which made far more sense, in retrospect), but not by terribly much. His hair looked like it might be an even darker brown than Jane's, under the dusting of powder covering it, and his eyes a match in colour to her own. Beyond colouring, however, she could not see much of herself in his face, and so she gave up on seeking their similarities in favour of sticking out her hand to shake his.

His expression was unreadable, but Jane supposed he must have been caught off-guard by the sight of her as well. She had elected to wear her very finest pair of breeches, shirt, stock, and coat instead of the delicate gown he had sent for her, her hair freshly brushed back from her face and plaited into a short queue. After a moment or two, he took her hand in his own, and she shook it firmly, as Boothe had taught her.

Several moments more passed before he spoke; Jane wondered if her handshake was likewise unexpected or if he simply took his time in speaking. When he did speak, it was in an accent she did not recognize, though it reminded her of Osgood's, who came to the covert from a place far south of it. "It is a pleasure to see you, Jane. My name is James Bywood."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mister Bywood," she answered, waiting for him to explain himself further. He had not told her that she might call him Father, and he did not seem displeased that she had rejected the option in favour of his surname; she had supposed he would expect the title, but perhaps he felt they must become more acquainted before they spoke of their familial connexions.

"I have come to make you an offer," he continued, something in his voice disturbing the outward blandness of his expression. Jane could not say what it was, precisely, but he did not sound as placid as he looked. "I would like you to come and live with me as my ward. I would provide you with everything you might need, and when you came of age, I would assist you in securing a fine life for yourself."

Jane did not reply immediately, running this information over in her mind. Finally, she asked, "And I would no longer live at the covert?"

"No," Bywood replied, and a thin smile appeared on his face. "You would live in my home; it is several days' drive from here."

"And then I should return when I am of age," Jane asked, frowning, "and take Mother's place when she takes her retirement of the Corps?"

He shook his head. "Oh, no. You should go to London, as young ladies do, and make a fine match."

Though she was not certain what it would mean to _make a fine match_ , understanding came swiftly to Jane. Her father did not mean to snatch her from Loch Laggan, but lead her quietly away, never to return. Perhaps he would allow her to visit Mother and Excidium, or perhaps they would come to visit her, but she would leave behind this place. She felt a sudden pang in her chest at the possibility and shook her head. "Thank you for the offer, but I will not go with you."

This drew a stare out of him, though he rejoined quickly enough, "You must consider more carefully, Jane. You would have lessons, and learn everything a young lady need know in this world."

"I already have lessons here," she informed him coolly, having lost all interest in this meeting at the thought of never truly becoming a part of the Corps. Mother would have to have another daughter, then, and Jane would never captain Excidium. Giving him the firmest look she could muster, she said, "I am an aviator."

"You are a child." He had not lost his temper, but Jane could not help but wonder if perhaps he might. "You do not know--"

Without care for propriety, she interrupted, "I am going to be a captain someday, and I shall visit Egypt and the East Indies with Mother's dragon. If going with you means I sha'n't, I shall stay here."

"That is no life for a girl," he said, almost mournful, and Jane knew then that he would not shout at her. He did not seem to have it in him. "Jane, please--"

"No." Jane shook her head once more. "And you needn't plead with me, because I won't change my mind. If Mother could not convince me to put on a dress, you will not make me go away from here."

There was nothing more to say, and they both knew it.

•

Once dismissed, Jane left the room with her chin high. Bywood did not follow her, and Mother made no encouragement that he should; she shut the door behind Jane once more and took her hand. Though her mother made no attempt to ask for the details of the past quarter-hour, Jane supposed she might as well tell her what happened. Mother might have known that Bywood had planned to lure Jane from the service, after all.

"I am going to be the very best of aviators," she informed her mother, for that was really all that needed to be said.

Mother smiled down at her. "The very best."

**Author's Note:**

> Jane is my favourite (human) character in the entire series, so it was a pleasure to write about her and her mother. I hope you enjoy it. ♥
> 
> Update: DVD commentary on this fic can be found [here](http://twohandedengine.tumblr.com/post/15410229224/dvd-commentary-everything-a-young-lady-need-know).


End file.
